That day, when we climbed up in the supper-room to take our coffee, where they had already placed a number of chairs, benches, and rustic tables, the yew was more attractive than ever. A fresh breeze coming up from the estuary made the branches gently sway; the sun, striking full on the tree’s top, gilded it, and drew out that penetrating, somewhat resinous odor, which increases in our hearts the rapture of life. The height at which we found ourselves suspended might indeed make us fancy that we were birds; to me, it seemed that the birds would have a pleasant abode in the bosom of that colossus; and suddenly, as if nature took pleasure in inspiring me with one of those desires, impossible to gratify, with which she makes sport of mortals, I felt a desire, or, rather, an eager longing to fly, to lose myself in those blue spaces, pure and unfathomable, which we could see through the openings in the branches. When I perceived that I was envying the sea-gulls, which, far off, were swooping down upon the cliffs of San AndrÉs, I took myself to task for my folly, and, making an effort, I gave my attention to the conversation.

As usual, Father Moreno had the lead, and was once more assuring his hearers that he always felt better in Morocco than in Spain, better among the Moors than among the Christians, “of the kind they had there.”

“Don’t think,” he hastened to add, “that we friars have an easy time in Africa. If I did feel more contented there, it was because those poor people do their best to serve one, and treat him with great consideration. I learned the Arabic, if not as well as my brother, Father Lerchundi, at least enough to make myself understood. If you only knew how useful it was to me! Our garb recommends us to those poor creatures. They call us in their language saints and wise men—precisely as is done here!”

“You could not say more clearly that you would like to become a Moor,” observed Don RomÁn.

“I was a Moor,” said the friar, vivaciously. “That is,” he added, modifying his assertion, “as you will understand, I did not become a Mohammedan; and I didn’t say Mohammedan or a follower of Mohammed, but Moor, which means a son of Africa, an inhabitant of Morocco.”

“Of course, we know that you did not renounce your faith,” exclaimed my prospective aunt, in the tone of gentle and affectionate jesting which she always adopted in addressing the father.

“No, my child, I did not renounce my religion; thanks to divine compassion, I did not go so far.”

“But tell us in what way you were a Moor.”

“Oh, goodness! Why, it scarcely needs to be told,—and it’s a very long story. It went the rounds of the papers; the Revista Popular of Barcelona had an article about it.”

“Oh, do tell us!”

The friar was well pleased to do so, to judge by the complacency with which he commenced his tale. He first took out his handkerchief from his sleeve, and wiped from his lips the liquor he had just been drinking.

“Well, you see it was a little while before the Restoration, when politics were in a bad way here, and Spain was all stirred up by the Republic. I was then in Tangiers, feeling very happy, because, as I have told you, I am very fond of Africa. But we have taken a vow of obedience, and suddenly I received the disagreeable order to leave for Spain, to go to Madrid itself, and it was not possible for me to wear my habit; fine times for habits those were! ‘Listen, Moreno,’ said I to myself, ‘it is time to cast off your friar’s garb and become a fine little gentleman.’ You know that they allow us to let our beards grow while we are in Africa, and that is a great aid in disguising a friar, because one of the things which betrays a priest dressed as a layman is his smooth face. The tonsure we were not very careful to shave, so all I had to do was to let my hair grow for a few days before the journey, and get it even with the rest, and there I was. I ordered my clothes from the best tailor there. And the accessories,—because a gentleman’s attire has a thousand accessories,—of those the ladies of my circle of acquaintance insisted on taking charge, particularly the ladies in the English Consul’s family. These ladies liked me very much, and understood all about the elegancies of the toilette and how a gentleman fixes himself up. They got me silk embroidered stockings, neckties, ruffled shirts, and even handkerchiefs marked with my initials. But they especially wanted to see me with all my finery on. ‘Father Moreno, after you are dressed you must come and show us.’ ‘Father Moreno, we must give you the last touch, or you’ll go away looking like a scarecrow.’ ‘Father Moreno, don’t deprive us of that pleasure.’ But I was obstinate. ‘Am I a monkey to show off my tricks? No, indeed, nobody shall laugh at me. You shall not see me dressed up. If you like that, well and good; but if you don’t, we’ll no longer be friends.’ The day arrived, and I decked myself out, head to foot; not the slightest detail was lacking—not even sleeve-buttons, for they had made me a present of some. I dressed at the convent, and went through the most retired streets to take a boat which was to put me on board. Well, will you believe it? In spite of all that, those ladies made out to see me! When they heard that the steamer was going to weigh anchor, they stationed themselves on their balconies, well provided with spy-glasses, and while I was taking my ease on the bridge, they all looked at me as much as they chose. They say that I seemed like another man to them. I should say so! I carried a cloak, had my traveling-bag, wore my hat on one side, and had two-buttoned gloves on my hands.”

There was a burst of laughter among his hearers, as they imagined how Father Moreno must have looked in such elegant attire.

“And afterward, what happened then?” asked Carmen, greatly interested.

“I landed in Gibraltar—what a fury I was in to see the English flag floating there! From that place I took ship again for Malaga. Nothing of much account happened except that I met two English Catholic priests, and conversed with them in Latin—because I knew no English—about the great strides Catholicism was making in England. From Malaga I went to Granada. To tell the truth, I was very anxious to see that beautiful city, so celebrated all over the world, and to visit the Alhambra and the Generalife. As soon as I went out in the street, what did I do but meet a friend of mine, a judge whom I had known in the Canary Isles! He looked at me in amazement, doubting the evidence of his senses. I addressed him, and he finally recognized me. I explained matters to him, he invited me to take coffee, and we agreed to meet the following day to go to see the Alhambra in company with some friends of his at the hotel. I begged him not to tell them that I was a friar. He promised that he would not, and was better than his word, as you shall see. In fact, when we met the next day he brought with him two army officers, two medical students, and a priest; and as soon as he saw me, he began to shout, feigning great surprise, ‘Hello, Aben Jusuf, you here! By Jove, who could think of meeting you at such a place and at such an hour!’ I replied, comprehending his object, ‘By Allah, when I left Morocco I did not expect to enjoy the pleasure of seeing you.’ His companions, already excited, whispered to my friend: ‘Why, is this gentleman really a Moor?’ My friend, in order not to tell a barefaced falsehood, replied: ‘You might know that by his name. I called him Aben Jusuf.’ ‘And is he a friend of yours?’ ‘Yes, I met him in the Canary Isles, when I went to take sea-baths.’ ‘I say, just invite him to come with us to visit the Alhambra, to see what he’ll say.’ ‘Agreed.’ I accepted the invitation, of course, seeing I had already done so the night before. My friend, drawing near me, held out his hand, and said: ‘Aben Jusuf, I would ask you to come with us to visit the Alhambra, but I am afraid of arousing your unpleasant feelings.’ I replied that it must be, indeed, unpleasant for a son of the desert to visit the monuments erected by his forefathers, which they no longer possess, but that, in order not to incommode him and those gentlemen, I would willingly accompany them.”

“Did they keep on thinking that you were a Moor?” inquired SeÑor Aldao.

“Of course. And such a Moor; a Moor of the Moors! I played my part with all seriousness. I overheard one of them say to the others, ‘He looks like all of his race.’ At every door, every window, and every court, I would stop as though sad and depressed, uttering broken phrases, like groans of pain; in short, just as I imagined a Moor might express his feelings there. Once I stroked my beard——”

“Oh, Father Moreno, how I would have liked to see you with a beard!” cried Carmen.

“Naranjas! It is true, you have not seen me!” exclaimed the friar, breaking off the thread of his discourse. “Wait, my girl, I think I must have it here.” Reaching up his sleeve, he brought out an old pocket-book, and took from it a card-photograph, which in a moment went the rounds of the crowded gathering in the second story of the tree. The women uttered exclamations of admiration and CandidiÑa cried mischievously, “How handsome you were, Father Moreno!”

I could not help thinking to myself that he really was handsome. His long hair and heavy beard brought out more forcibly the friar’s manly appearance.

“Well, I stroked that big beard that you see there, and exclaimed seriously, ‘If Spain goes on in the road she has been traveling for a few years past, Allah will again lead Arabian horsemen to these plains, which they still recall in their homes in the desert.’ Then turning to those present, without looking at my friend, who was desperately striving not to laugh, I resumed: ‘Pardon, gentlemen, a son of the desert; these opinions have escaped me without my being able to prevent it.’ You should have seen these men, charmed with my outburst. ‘No, no, it is all very well. Hurrah for the agreeable Moors!’ they cried, with other sayings of the same nature. But my trouble began when they commenced to question me about what they supposed was my religion, and the customs of my alleged country. One inquired whether it was true that the laws of Mohammed authorized having many wives. Then another, a cavalry officer, burst out, ‘By Jove, that is the best thing in the laws of Mohammed.’”

This part of the story caused a great sensation. My uncle frowned. SeÑor Aldao compressed his waist; SerafÍn hiccoughed; Carmen laughed heartily, and I joined in.

“How did you get out of the scrape, Father Moreno? Let us hear it, for that must be entertaining.”

“Listen,” said the friar, when the merriment had a little subsided. “I became serious, without any appearance of having taken offense, and said in a natural tone: ‘Gentlemen, although they call us barbarians and fanatics, we know how to acknowledge the defects of our legislation. I have traveled a great deal, and have studied the inner constitution of many different forms of society, and I assure you that nothing charms me more than a family consisting of one man and one woman, who have vowed to love each other and to protect the fruit of their love. Neither the heart of man, nor the quiet and security of the family, nor the dignity of woman, can be exalted and strengthened by polygamy. Not even sensual passions are satisfied, for, as you know, sensuality is a sort of moral dropsy, which finally engenders tedium and disgust.’”

“Bravo, Father Moreno!”

“Excellent, and what did they reply?”

“They remained dumbfounded and abashed to hear me express myself in that way. The officer looked at me, his mouth stretched from ear to ear, and what do you think he burst forth with, the rogue, as soon as he recovered his equanimity? He faced me, and said very politely: ‘And you, Aben Jusuf, how many wives have you?’”

His hearers again gave free rein to their laughter.

“What a joke!”

“Ah, he hit the mark.”

“And what did you reply?”

“The truth is, I was slightly confused at first, but an idea came to me like a flash, and you’ll see how I parried his thrust. ‘That gentleman knows my tastes,’ I said, pointing to my friend; ‘I am a man who does not care to sacrifice his fondness for travel and his independence, to the duty of sustaining a wife and family. I want to be free as a bird, and for that reason I long ago resolved never to marry.’”

“Were they satisfied with your reply? Didn’t they ask more questions?”

“Not on that subject,” said the friar.

“The conversation no longer turned upon women. They talked about politics, and there my road was still more unobstructed. The medical students and the two officers, who were more liberal than Riego himself, began to praise the beneficial results of the revolution. Then I answered that perhaps I, being a Moor, had a different conception of liberty from theirs. ‘Pardon me, for I am a stranger here, and explain to me how it happens that although you have so much liberty for all the world, here, you will not allow some men, whom we esteem greatly over yonder—a kind of Christian saints, who wear gray tunics and have no shoes on their feet, and are called—are called—’ ‘Friars!’ the officer shouted. ‘Nice scamps they are! If they are among the Moors, let them stay there!’ Without paying any attention to him, I went on: ‘They are greatly respected in Morocco, and they help to inspire us with love for this land, which we regard as our other country. I am amazed that here (according to your history, which I have read because I am fond of reading) they barbarously massacred a number of them in the year 1834 in Madrid, and in 1835 in Vich, Zaragoza, Barcelona, and Valencia, burning their convents. Am I mistaken, or was it so? We don’t do so in Morocco to inoffensive people devoted to praying and fasting.’ They kept as still as the grave. One nudged the other, and I heard him say, ‘See how well-informed he is.’ ‘He has squelched us!’ replied the other. That was what he said, ‘squelched.’”

“Well, what was the final result of your Moorish escapade?”

“Bah! You can fancy how it ended. On our return to Granada, while going through the winding streets, near my hotel, I suddenly turned toward them, and said with great seriousness: ‘Gentlemen, all that about my being a Moor was a joke. I am only a poor Franciscan friar, who, thanks to the liberty which reigns in Spain, has been obliged to disguise himself in order to revisit his native land. I now salute you in my true character.’ I then turned and went off, leaving them more astonished than ever.”

The friar’s adventures, told with spirit and grace, made us wish to learn the outcome of his journey. Father Moreno then went on to tell about his stay at the baths of LanjarÓn; his discussion with an impudent, saucy-tongued young gentleman, whom he silenced at the table d’hÔte, leaving him as quiet as a mouse; of his trip to Madrid in a second-class car, always playing the part of a Moor, and availing himself of his foreign dress to censure the abuses of the time in Spain. “As those were remarks made by a Moor,” observed the father, “they did not take offense, but were even impressed by my assertions. If they had discovered that I was a friar, they would have sent me off flying. In fact, I felt immensely dissatisfied not to be able to cry out, ‘Friar I am, friar I shall be, and friar I shall die, God willing!’ But as I was not going to Madrid to enjoy myself, but because I had been sent there, I had to champ the bit and play the Moor. So well did I do it, that I never once betrayed myself by making any movement peculiar to a friar. I never searched for my handkerchief in my sleeve, but in the left pocket of my cloak. It even seems to me that my Moorish appearance and my great beard gave those gentlemen a bit of apprehension, so that they didn’t like the idea of getting into a quarrel with Aben Jusuf.”

It was already getting dark when we left the supper-room. Carmen was full of animation, commenting so gayly on the father’s story that a suspicion flashed through my mind regarding the Abencerrage with a friar’s gown. I tried to dismiss it from my thoughts, but, finally, giving form to the fancies which stirred in my brain, I came to the conclusion, “It can’t be with the father that she is in love—but as for my uncle, she isn’t with him either.”